


A More Lethal Dress

by Sarahtoo



Category: Miss Fisher's Murder Mysteries
Genre: F/M, smutty smut smut, with a bit of relationshippiness
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-06-27
Updated: 2016-07-02
Packaged: 2018-07-18 11:43:26
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 4
Words: 8,039
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/7313914
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Sarahtoo/pseuds/Sarahtoo
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>During a rewatch a few weeks ago, <a href="http://archiveofourown.org/users/Fire_Sign/pseuds/Fire_Sign">Fire_Sign</a> made the remark that the black dress Phryne wears to dinner with Lin… (you know, the dinner where she offends Lin by implying that he knows anything about the opium trade which, by the end of the episode, he’s agreed to lead? Yeah… bygones. Anyway!) The dress, the black, diagonally striped lace-and-satin confection that she wears for that dinner should have made a repeat appearance, as it’s one of the best dresses in the show.</p>
<p>I agreed, and since I’m not a fan of Lin, he doesn’t get to see it. Instead, Phryne wears it for dinner with Jack. What happened to this story that was supposed to be a simple little smutty drabble, I don’t even know. So I’ll give it to you all. It’s long and smutty and I hope you like it.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

Phryne smoothed her hands over her hips, examining herself in the mirror. This dress was divine, she had to admit. It was a masterpiece of shimmering black lace and shiny black satin that wrapped in diagonal stripes around her body, going from thin at one shoulder to wide at the hem. It had been lined with a layer of silk the same tone as her skin, so the lace sections gave the illusion that they were covering only her naked body. Its skirt swished gracefully around her calves, and the asymmetrical neckline showcased her collarbones and her long, graceful neck.

It could definitely be classified as “lethal,” she thought with a pleased smile. She’d only worn it once before, to that first dinner with Lin, when she’d managed to offend him so much he hadn’t wanted to stay and get her out of it. That time, she had to admit, wearing this had been calculated—she’d been attracted to Lin, and would have welcomed him in her bed, but what she’d really wanted from him that night was information. She’d hoped the dress or some time in the boudoir would distract him into revealing something he might not have done otherwise.

Since then, she hadn’t had a male companion she’d truly wanted to wear this gorgeous thing for—until now. Jack was coming over for dinner tonight, and she could hardly wait.

Phryne sat at her dressing table, sliding sparkling beaded earrings through her lobes to dangle beneath the fringe of her hair. She considered a comb and decided against it—simplicity felt like the order of the day. Let the dress speak for itself. She hoped that Jack would hear the message it was sending: _I want you, Jack Robinson. Don’t make me wait any longer._

She and Jack had been dancing around each other in the week since her return from London. She’d decided during the long quiet flight to and from England that she wanted to attempt something more with Jack; she’d known it before she left, but knowing and following through had been different things. She could see now how she’d pushed him away even as she’d tried to pull him close. She was ready to stop doing that now.

And so, over the past week, they’d had dinner almost every night and, each time, he’d stayed after for a nightcap and some rather wonderful kisses and caresses. She’d invited him up to her boudoir as well, but he’d demurred, saying that this felt like his version of pursuit, that he was enjoying the slow buildup of desire.

If she was honest, Phryne was too. She had ways to relieve her own sexual tension, and the experience of Jack’s pursuit was too delicious to rush. She hoped, however, that this night, this dress, would be the one that would tip him past his breaking point. She was rather looking forward to it.

Phryne made her face up, slicking glossy red over her lips, before stepping into her strappy black sandals. She was ready. Now all she had to do was wait for Jack.

* * *

Jack adjusted his tie in the rearview mirror of his car. It was the same fury of blue and red that he’d purchased for their first dinner together—the one that had ended with him in her bed without her. He’d found since then that its vivid pattern gave him a sort of false confidence, something he often felt he needed around a certain Honorable Miss. He’d worn it tonight because he was off duty tomorrow, and he hoped that this would be the night that he’d visit her boudoir again, this time not alone.

The past week of dinners and kisses and roaming hands—both of their hands—had been wonderful. He’d left each night wanting more, hoping that he’d left her wanting more too. He hadn’t wanted to be like her other men, falling into her bed for a quick tumble and then never returning. He wanted to be her first choice of men, so that even if she felt the need for a variety of partners, he would be the one she came back to. She was more than a beautiful woman to him, more than a willing bedpartner. She was his best friend and his partner in crime—so to speak—and he wanted to take that partnership to the next level. He had no intention of destroying it.

It was possible, he supposed, that they’d have sex and then realize that their partnership was better without it, but it seemed unlikely. In his opinion, they’d be even better partners as lovers than they were without sex, but he was trying to be open to all the possibilities, the way she’d taught him to be.

Whichever way their partnership progressed from here, they were going to have at least one night together, and he hoped it would be tonight. Straightening his hat, he climbed out of his car and headed up to Wardlow’s front door. It was time.

At his knock, Mr Butler swung the door wide, greeting him with a smile.

“Good evening, inspector.” He took Jack’s overcoat and hat. “Miss Fisher is in the parlor. Dinner will be served shortly.”

“Thank you, Mr Butler.” Jack smiled at the older man; he hoped that Mr Butler’s warmth toward him was because he approved of Jack’s liaisons with his employer. He was sure that the older man was perfectly cordial to all of Miss Fisher’s visitors, but he would like to know that Mr Butler was rooting for him.

Turning to the parlor, Jack stepped in and stopped, barely aware of Mr Butler pulling the doors closed behind him. He was far too busy looking at Phryne. She stood by the fireplace, drink in hand, in a dress so stunning that he felt as if he’d been kicked in the solar plexus. His eyes traced the lines of her body revealed by the satin and lace construction; he could see the curve of her waist and her small breasts—both perfectly sized for his hands. Her graceful arms were bare to the shoulder, and her neck called out to be worshipped with his lips. Her hair was a glossy cap, her eyes and lips vivid splashes of color in the black-and-white cloth and skin scheme of her clothing.

“Hello, Jack.”

* * *

Phryne smirked as she watched Jack try to recover his composure. The dress was doing its job beautifully. She walked toward him, her movements made more languid by her own low-key arousal and the knowledge that he was watching, she lifted the whiskey she’d poured for him and brought it closer, holding it out.

He accepted the glass from her dumbly, seemingly unable to speak.

“Cat got your tongue, Jack?” Her voice was a purr, and she stroked his lapel with her free hand, running one long finger over his boldly patterend tie. She loved it when he wore this tie. He’d worn it for the first time the night of their date that had gone so terribly wrong and several more times since, and each time he’d worn it, he’d seemed to pick her over whatever other distraction he had going on. She thought of it as _her_ tie, and its presence around his neck tonight told her that he, too, was tired of waiting.

Jack took a mouthful of whiskey, swallowing hard before responding. “You are… exquisite, Miss Fisher.” His voice was hoarse, and she stepped a little closer, pressing her body to his. She could feel his cock hardening against her and his free hand settled in the curve of her waist.

“Aren’t you going to kiss me hello?” She looked up at him through her lashes, loving the way his mouth quirked into a smile at her wiles.

“Far be it from me to deny you anything,” he rumbled, and then his mouth was on hers.

_God, he is delicious._ Her eyes fluttered closed and she leaned into his body, all of her focus on their kiss. He tasted of whiskey and himself— _the best of all flavors_ —and he used his tongue and lips with skill. Her hand on his lapel stroked up to wrap around his neck, cupping the back of his head and loving the bristly-soft texture of his hair there. He slid his palm down to cup her buttock, pulling her closer.

It was familiar by now, this kissing and wandering of hands, and yet each time it was new. Over the past week, he’d kissed her numerous times and touched most of her body through the fabric of her clothing. He hadn’t so much as dipped a finger inside to touch her flesh, though she’d done her best to wear clothing that gave him access. She arched into him, her body already attuned to his relatively chaste touches, her arousal growing.

“Jack,” she whimpered, “please.”

Jack pulled back from the kiss, his eyes half-closed with pleasure as he looked at her. “Please what, Miss Fisher?”

“Touch me, Jack.”

He gripped her buttock, his fingers denting her soft flesh. “I am touching you,” he replied. “Or would you rather that my hand was here?” He stroked up her body, tracing the diagonal stripe of her dress to close over her breast. Her nipple, already taut, hardened in a rush as he brushed it with his thumb, and she gasped.

“Both lovely options,” she said breathlessly, “but I want your hands on my skin.”

“Ah,” Jack’s breath came out in a shudder, and he held her eyes as his hand moved from her breast to her thigh, where he began to gather up the fabric of her dress, pulling it higher. “How long do you think we have before dinner?”

“Sod dinner!” Phryne threw back the last of her whiskey and flailed out her arm to set her empty glass on the piano. Then she wrapped her arm around his waist, raising her knee so that he could reach the bottom edge of her gown without bending. He took a sip of whiskey himself and leaned in to kiss her again as his long fingers found her silk-covered knee. He slid his hand up the back of her leg, tracing the top line of her stocking and tucking beneath the strap of her garter where it crossed her naked buttock.

“Jesus, Phryne, you’re not wearing knickers,” he groaned against her mouth.

“I’m so glad you noticed, Jack,” she gasped, her hand under his coat dropping to grasp his bottom as well.

His hand spread on her ass, he lifted his head and took the last gulp of his own drink, leaning slightly over to set the glass on the coffee table. With both hands free, he wrapped an arm around her waist and slid the hand under her skirt over her hip to cup her mons.

The slide of his fingers between her nether lips was electrifying, and Phryne’s head fell back, a groan escaping her lips. _At last! His hands, his beautiful hands, were on her skin._ She nearly came just at the thought.

* * *

When Phryne tilted her head, Jack took the invitation to put his mouth to her neck, tracing his tongue against her skin as his fingers traced her clit. _She tastes so good…_ Sliding his fingers lower, he pushed one inside her body, her slickness sucking at him, her muscles grasping to pull him closer. He heard her gasp, felt her fingers grip his ass and smiled against her throat. Breathing deeply, he took in her scent—perfume, sweat, and something more. Perhaps that something more would be identifiable in the morning, when they’d both shed their additional layers of pomade and cologne in the exertions of the night.

She leaned back against the arm he had wrapped around her waist, and Jack trailed his mouth down to trace her collarbone as he added a second finger to the one pumping between her legs. He pressed his thumb into her clit, alternating finger thrusts with a swirling pressure to that sensitive nub.

Trailing his mouth back up her neck, he whispered in her ear. “I love the sounds you make, Phryne Fisher. I’ve been imagining them for so long, and the real thing is so much more beautiful than I’d guessed it would be.” He pressed a kiss beneath her ear before sucking her earlobe into his mouth. “You’re so hot and wet against my fingers. I can feel you rippling against me. You’re going to come soon, aren’t you?”

Phryne gasped, her hand on the back of his head fisting in his hair as he changed the angle of his finger thrusts. Curling a finger back to meet his thumb, Jack rolled her clit between them, continuing to pump his fingers within her.

“Yes, Jack!” Her voice was high and quiet, and her hips moved in a careful counterpoint to his fingers. “God, your hands….”

“I can’t wait to taste you, Phryne. You smell so good, and my mouth is watering at the thought of how your juices will feel against my tongue.” He met her mouth, which she’d turned blindly toward him, his tongue thrusting inside in the same rhythm as his fingers.

Jack flattened his hand between her legs, pressing the heel hard against her clit, grinding against her as his fingers within her sped up.

Lifting his mouth from hers, he growled. “Come, Phryne. Come now!”

With a wail that he captured with his lips, she did; he could feel the rippling of her muscles against his fingers and he kept them pressed deep within her, wanting to feel every instant of her orgasm. The arm he’d wrapped around her shook with her tremors, and he felt her leg slip down his hip, squeezing his hand between her thighs.

* * *

When the orgasm released her, Phryne slumped bonelessly against Jack, her hand on his ass moving up to wrap around his shoulders. He gently pulled his hand from between her legs, allowing her skirt to fall between them once again. Lifting his mouth from hers, he raised his head; she let hers fall to his shoulder, her nose near his throat, breathing in his scent.

She watched as Jack lifted his wet fingers to his mouth, licking them and his palm thoroughly to capture the essence of Phryne that was smeared there.

“You meant that? About tasting me?” Her voice was quiet and a little incredulous. She hadn’t expected that Jack would want to do that. In hindsight, she wasn’t sure why. Once he knew that she wanted him, he’d thrown himself into seducing her.

“Delicious,” he rumbled, wrapping his now-clean hand around her back. “I can’t wait for seconds.” Phryne smiled up at him.

“Too bad Mr B will be announcing dinner any moment,” she said. “Or I’d ravish you right here on the parlor rug.”

Jack smiled as he looked down at her. Reaching for his handkerchief, he wiped at her face—she presumed that he was cleaning her smeared lipstick away. “Perhaps another time,” he said softly, leaning in to kiss her when he was through.

“I’ll look forward to it,” she whispered against him.

“May I stay tonight?”

“Oh, please do,” she squeezed the arms she still held around his neck. “I don’t think I could stand another night with only my fingers for company.”

Jack chuckled, a warm, intimate sound. “You’re welcome to use mine anytime.”

Phryne’s smile was brilliant, and if Mr Butler hadn’t chosen that moment to knock on the door and announce dinner, she’d have pulled Jack to the rug and to hell with having dinner at all.


	2. Chapter 2

Jack and Phryne sat at the dinner table, casually touching as they talked and laughed over their meal. He loved this part, the quiet discussion of the cases both of them were working on, the stories of their daily adventures and their pasts. They rarely lacked for conversational topics, and every encounter seemed to bring them closer. He’d told her things he’d never told anyone else, not even Rosie, and he’d guessed by the occasional surprise in her eyes that she’d found herself telling him secrets as well. He felt a warmth suffuse his chest at the very idea.

Jack had been uncomfortably aroused for the first course of dinner, his cock still throbbing at the memory of his fingers inside inside her body. He’d managed eventually to focus on her face with its naked lips—she hadn’t reapplied her lipstick, and as much as he loved her usual red, the pale pink of her natural lips was lovely. Though he was still aroused, he dug into the fancy chicken and roasted carrots that Mr Butler had prepared. Looking up as he took the last bite, he met Phryne’s laughing eyes.

“What?” He asked. He lifted his napkin to wipe his mouth, hoping he hadn’t dribbled sauce down his chest.

“You and your appetite.” She smiled as she said it, sipping her wine. “How on earth are you not fifteen stone?”

He looked at her, replacing his napkin in his lap and lifting his own wine glass in a toast. “I exercise a lot. Work up a sweat on a regular basis.” He meant it—he cycled daily, if he could manage it, and he enjoyed boxing in the police gym—but he knew she’d take it differently. To be fair, he’d been known to work up a sweat that way as well, and likely more often than she would think.

“Do you now,” Phryne purred. “Tell me more.”

“I’ll do you one better,” he rumbled, leaning close. “I’ll show you.”

He smiled at the delight that flashed in her eyes at his words. Before she could respond, Mr Butler arrived to remove their plates. As he leaned back to give the older man room to do his job, Jack glanced up.

“Wonderful meal, Mr Butler,” he said with a smile.

“Yes, delicious, Mr B,” Phryne echoed.

“I’m so glad you enjoyed it, inspector, miss,” Mr Butler responded, a pleased smile on his face. “I’ll just bring dessert, shall I?”

“Oh, please do,” Jack responded with a glance at Phryne, who let out a soft laugh.

* * *

Phryne watched with pleasure as Jack tucked into the tall glass of berry trifle that Mr B set in front of him. She loved to watch him eat. He savored every bite, his well-hidden hedonist tendencies peeking out. Judging by the last few evenings, she was certain that when Jack loosed the reins that held him back, he would wallow in sensation.

The evidence was there—when he’d held her purse in the past, she’d seen his fingers absently stroking the material. He’d begun to play with the ends of her hair as they sat together over nightcaps, and he liked to touch her earrings as if he could feel their sparkle through his fingertips. When he ate, his cheekbones flushed, and the way he licked his eating utensils was nearly pornographic. She shifted slightly in her seat, watching him.

“Are you all right?” He eyed her as he took another bite of his dessert, absently running his tongue over his spoon as he removed it from his mouth. Phryne bit her lip, her own spoon stalled over her glass.

“I am, yes,” she murmured, blinking. She glanced down at her dessert. “I think that yours is better than mine.” She lifted a spoonful to her mouth, letting the cream and cake melt on her tongue as the ripe berries burst against the roof of her mouth. She watched him as she licked her spoon and swallowed, pleased to see his eyes narrow in concentration.

“Let me taste yours, and we’ll see.” His eyes were still on her lips, and Phryne leaned forward to meet his kiss. She moaned softly as his tongue swept through her mouth. He tasted of trifle, mostly, though the flavors of their meal lingered, and under it all was _Jack_.

He pulled away slightly, scooping a spoonful of trifle into his mouth. He chewed and swallowed. “Now you taste mine.” And he smiled as he kissed her again. This time she licked into his mouth, and was pleased to hear him moan. She slid her hand up the back of his neck to hold him close.

“Yours is definitely better.” His whisper gusted across her lips as he kissed her again, small sips at her mouth. His spoon clattered in his trifle glass as he reached for her. Pleased, she moved to join him, rising from her chair and rounding the table to curl up on his lap. He wrapped his arms around her, pulling her close.

“We’ll scandalize Mr Butler,” he murmured against her mouth as he kissed her again.

“It won’t be the first time,” she chuckled against his mouth.

“Do this often, do you?” His tone was humorous, and she drew back slightly to look at him.

“Not _this_ in particular, no,” she slid her hands into his hair, examining his face. “But I have managed, nonetheless. Does it bother you?”

“That you’ve had other men in your bed?” His eyebrows raised, he smiled that small, secretive smile.

She nodded quietly, holding her breath as she waited for his answer.

“No.” He shook his head, sobering. “I’ll admit, I’m hoping to be in your bed myself before too long, and for more than one night.” He combed his fingers through her hair, cupping her cheek in his hand. “I won’t cage you, Phryne.” He looked at her, his eyes serious. “I’ll be here for as long as you want me, in whatever form that takes.”

Phryne gaped at him. “You mean…”

He nodded solemnly. “If you need to entertain other men, I won’t stop you. I just hope you’ll find your way back to me afterwards.”

Phryne made a soft, inarticulate noise as she kissed him again, pressing her body to his. He was miraculous, this man. She hoped that he meant it—that he wasn’t just saying what she wanted to hear, and that he would actually be all right with her taking another lover for an evening if the occasion arose. She made a mental note to check in with him before anything of the sort happened, just in case. He was too important to leave to chance.

He kissed her back, his hand rising to cup her breast through her dress, his thumb rubbing softly at her nipple. When she raised her head, he looked down at his hand, and her eyes followed his. The juxtaposition was enthralling—his large, heavy-knuckled hand against the delicate lace of her bodice, her pebbled nipple visible through the fabric.

“You’re not wearing any underthings at all, are you?” Jack’s voice rumbled over her skin, and Phryne smiled.

“Not a stitch,” she promised, her fingers sliding into his hair again as she pressed her lips to his. She pressed into him, feeling his cock hardening against her hip and his fingers on her breast. Before long, they were both panting.

“Come upstairs, Jack,” Phryne breathed, wanting him even more than she had earlier. He nodded, his eyes slumberous. She stood, taking his hand and leading him toward her bedroom. She didn’t want to wait any longer before taking him to bed.


	3. Chapter 3

Jack followed Phryne out of the dining room, his cock aching with hardness again. Phryne’s kisses had left him dazed. She held his hand as they mounted the stairs, glancing back at him every so often as if to be sure that he was following. She needn’t have worried. He was right where he wanted to be. As he climbed, he watched the globes of her ass moving against the diagonal stripes of her skirt and remembered again that she wore no underthings between her skin and the gown’s fabric.

Lifting one hand, he stroked her bottom, running his hand over one buttock and his thumb down the crease between them. Her steps faltered a moment, and he looked up to see her smiling back over her shoulder at him. His lips stretched in a return smile, and he ran his hand down the back of her thigh as she continued up the stairs, appreciating the way the slight roughness of the lace of her dress contrasted against the smooth satin. At the top of the staircase, they turned right and Phryne pushed open the door to her boudoir.

Jack had been here before, more than once—in a professional capacity, usually, but one time he’d woken in her big, soft bed, unsure whether he’d spent the night there alone. He’d never asked her; he didn’t want to know, really. He’d entertained himself with the idea that she’d climbed in beside him that night, whether just to be close or to keep an nurse’s eye on him, and that she’d woken early to slip away. He liked the idea that he’d shared a bed with her before, however platonically.

The room hadn’t changed, he noted with his policeman’s eye—her bed still dominated the space, fireplace on the opposite wall, vanity on the far side of the bed. Her dressing screen was on the left, and the small sofa beneath that bewitching nude was there with its fur throw. A small doorway had been cut in one corner, and he thought it led to the bedroom she’d recently converted into a bathroom/dressing room area, but as neither bathing nor dressing were of particular interest to him at this moment, he dismissed it as Phryne pulled him inside, closing the door behind them. She turned to face him.

“You are wearing far too many clothes, Jack,” she said, her smile sparkling up at him. He leaned in, unable to help himself, and kissed her again; she moaned against his mouth even as her fingers worked to undo his waistcoat buttons.

Jack lifted his head and shrugged out of his jacket, then the waistcoat. Phryne’s fingers were at his tie now—“This really is a rather nice tie, Jack. Take it off.”—loosening his precise Windsor knot and sliding the silk away from his collar. Turning, Jack threw his clothes over the edge of the sofa; when he turned back, Phryne began to work his shirt buttons. Jack shrugged out of his braces, letting them dangle at his hips, and reached for her, searching out the line of buttons that fastened her dress underneath her left arm. He’d begun looking for these fastenings as they left the parlor for dinner, and now he was more than ready to help her disrobe.

By the time he had her buttons undone, his fingers trailing softly down the skin of her ribcage, she’d shucked his shirt off of his shoulders and had moved on to his trousers.

“Wait, let me,” he said, his breath panting in his lungs at the feel of her hands on him. She was breathing hard as well, and he hoped it was for the same reason. He stepped back, quickly stripping off his undershirt before lifting first one foot, then the other, to remove his shoes and socks. Phryne was attempting to remove her dress, and getting caught in the fabric.

“Jack…” she whimpered, and he moved close to lift the dress up over her head. His breath froze in his lungs as he stepped back again, her dress in his arms, and looked at her.

She wore nothing but a garter belt made of pale ivory lace cinched to stockings that matched her skin tone so exactly it looked like her legs were shimmering. Her strappy black sandals were the perfect counterpoint, echoing the color of the hair on her head and the thatch between her thighs. Her nipples were a warm blush pink, their hardened tips pointing pertly upward; the lower curves of her breasts were full for their small size. Jack felt his mouth watering as he wondered how those nipples would feel against his tongue.

Phryne stepped forward, taking her dress and laying it over his clothing on the sofa before hooking her hands in the waistband of his trousers.

“I want you, Jack,” she said, as she undid his fastenings, pushing the trousers and his smalls down his hips and crouching to help him step out. When she’d freed his feet, she tossed the trousers toward the couch, dropping to her knees; she raised her hands to capture his hardened cock, exploring him with her fingertips. Jack was mesmerized by the picture she made, his body shuddering with the excitement of her hands on his skin.

“Phryne…” His voice was hoarse, and he reached a hand to stroke her hair, intending to lift her up to his kiss. When her mouth closed over his cockhead, he said her name again, this time in surprised delight.

* * *

Phryne had been waiting to take Jack into her mouth for what felt like forever. She’d thought about how big he’d be, how long and how wide, whether his intimate skin would flush red or purple, whether his cockhead would be as smooth as the skin of his lips, and whether he’d like it when she sucked him in. Each time she’d fantasized, her imagined version of Jack’s cock had gotten better, its aching beauty becoming worthy of Michelangelo’s art, his taste reaching the levels of ambrosia.

The reality of Jack’s cock was far better than anything she’d imagined, for all that it wasn’t perfect. The weight of him on her tongue was substantial, and the taste of his skin had that ineffable _Jack_ -ness that she’d adored on his tongue. He was long and wide and straight, the reddened mushroom-shaped head protruding from his foreskin was large and soft, and he fit Phryne’s mouth as if he had been made for her. She tongued a spot on the underside of his cockhead before sliding her lips and tongue down his length, one hand bracing at his base and the other cupping his scrotum.

She heard him call her name as she moved back to his tip and pulled him into her mouth; she felt his hands cup the back of her head—gently, not guiding her, just resting on her hair and trailing along her neck.

“God, Phryne,” he said again as she began to move on him, each withdrawal hollowing her cheeks with suction and each advance sliding wetly along her tongue. Glancing up at him, she felt a sudden spike of arousal—he stood, sturdily planted amidst the feminine trappings of her boudoir, his thighs and abdomen clenching with pleasure and his face a study in concentration as he watched her suck his cock.

* * *

“You are so beautiful,” Jack breathed, watching Phryne work. She was always so composed, even as she worked her wild ways, and seeing her like this, nearly naked, her lipstick-free mouth reddening with the effort of bringing him off, was incredibly arousing. “So very beautiful, and I don’t want to come in your mouth this time.”

Stepping backward, he pulled his cock away, ignoring her mewl of protest. He reached down to take her under the arms and help her to her feet, then he pressed his mouth to hers, kissing her deeply as he turned to press her back upon her bed. She scrambled backward to make room for him, her face flushed and her lips swollen. With a groan, Jack followed her, but only so far that he could lie between her thighs.

“Jack,” she whimpered, “I want you…”

“I told you that I wanted to taste you, Phryne—you had your chance, now it’s mine.” He pushed at her ankles to encourage her to open her legs and let him in. She gave in easily, lifting one leg to wrap it over his shoulder, the heel of her shoe against his back; she bent her other knee and let it fall to one side, and the image of her was almost more than Jack could bear.

With a whispered curse, he dipped his head, first nestling his nose in the crease of her thigh and breathing her in. She had dabbed perfume here as well as at her neck and collarbone, and its musk mixed with her sweat and her juices to create a scent that drove him wild. The scent of her arousal was sweet, and he could see the shininess of the fluids gathering around her sex. With a growl, he began using his tongue, first lapping at her clit with its tip, then swiping with the flat of it, dipping lower to circle the opening of her body, then coming back up to her clit again.

“God, Phryne, you taste so good…” he groaned into her, feeling his cock grow harder as her flavors flooded his mouth. Jack slid his hands around her hips to pull her closer, pressing his tongue inside her body and using his fingers to tease her clit. He didn’t have to work her for long before he felt the tremors of her release begin. He fastened his lips around her clit and suckled strongly; she broke with a small scream, her back arching and her heel digging almost painfully into his back.

When her tremors ceased, Jack crawled up her body, capturing her mouth with his as he notched his cockhead into her passage.

“Phryne?” His voice was soft, and he pulsed his hips carefully against her, one hand sweeping up to cup her breast. Distracted, he bent to lick at her nipple, continuing to push lightly against her without entering.

“Jack, oh my god,” she said, her hands tunnelling into his hair. “Please, Jack…”

Releasing her breast with a soft _pop_ , he looked at the reddened tip, then up to meet her eyes.

“Now, Jack! Come inside me now,” she moaned, pulling at his hair to bring his mouth back to hers.

Murmuring her name against her lips, Jack pushed steadily, sliding his whole length into her body until he could feel himself come to rest against her.

* * *

Phryne arched as she felt him enter her. He was big enough that she could feel her tissues stretching to accommodate him, but not so big that it hurt. _Perfect._ With a moan, she wrapped her legs around his waist.

“Wait just a moment,” Jack said, and without pulling out of her, he twisted to lift each of her legs in turn, removing first one shoe and then the other and dropping them over the edge of the bed. She wrapped her legs around him again, this time pressing with the silken-clad heels of her feet rather than the pointed heels of her shoes. “Ah, much better,” he said as he planted his elbows beside her on the bed.

Phryne grinned. “Not so sexy when they’re poking you in the bum, are they?”

He smiled back. “Worth it, though.”

She laughed and lifted her head to kiss him, pulling his mouth to hers by the simple method of tugging on his hair. He kissed her hard, his tongue sweeping through her mouth, as he began to pump his hips.

Phryne hadn’t expected the wave of emotion that overcame her has Jack began to move within her body. She had wanted this for so very long, and now that the moment was here, it didn’t disappoint. They worked together to find the right rhythm, and when they did, it just clicked, and they were off. He pressed his chest against her breasts at first, kissing her as he thrust, and then he lifted off of her to plant one hand at her side and cup the other under her knee, raising it up to give himself a better angle.

She cupped one hand around his waist, urging him on as he plunged into her at a steady pace; she brought the other up to toy with her nipple, enjoying the zing of sensation that shot down to her clitoris with each light pinch. Jack groaned as he watched her fingers move on her breast, his hips accellerating.

With a grunt, he shifted again, tucking his widespread knees under her hips and pulling both of her legs up to lie against his chest. He grasped her thighs with both hands and used his legs to start again, his thrusts more powerful this way. Phryne raised both hands to her breasts now, but she barely needed the additional sensation—the sight of Jack laboring between her thighs was already incredibly arousing. His powerful thighs clenched with each thrust of his hips, his biceps worked to hold her legs up, and his abdominal muscles pulled taut. And then there was his face—he had rolled his lips together, his jaw clenching with effort, his eyes on his hard length as it disappeared into her body.

With a gasp, Phryne felt a wave of pleasure flow over her, not as intense as the first orgasm, but lovely all the same. She clenched around Jack’s cock as she came, softly crying his name.

* * *

Jack’s eyes flew to Phryne’s face as he felt her internal muscles ripple against him; her eyes fluttered with pleasure, her back arching slightly. Her hands on her breasts slid away, leaving them bouncing with each push of his body into hers. He was mesmerized by their motion, continuing to thrust even as orgasm pinched at the base of his shaft. With a shout, he went over, bending forward over Phryne as he poured into her.

Phryne slid her legs down his arms, stroking her hands around his shoulders and pulling him close. He buried his face in her neck as his hips continued to spasm with release.

“Jack…” she whispered against his temple.

“Phryne…” he said in reply.

Neither of them had any more to say than that for a very long time.


	4. Chapter 4

Phryne woke in darkness, her body pressed closely alongside a man’s, one arm flung across his chest, one leg tucked between his. She felt a moment’s irritation. She usually didn’t allow her lovers to stay the night, and she hoped this one would be amenable to leaving. Her face was tucked into the crook of his neck, and she breathed in deeply, readying herself to wake him and send him on his way. When his scent registered in her sleepy brain, her tension fell away. _Jack._

He had one arm wrapped around her, his palm lying lightly on her ribcage just below her breast, and his other hand lay on her forearm, his fingers softly stroking her skin.

Phryne raised her head. Jack’s eyes were open and he turned his head to look at her, a soft smile on his face. She smiled back, her eyes devouring him.

“Hello, Miss Fisher,” he said quietly. “I hope I didn’t wake you?”

“I don’t think so, Jack. Or at least, if you did, I’m not unhappy about it.” She leaned in, kissing him softly, her lips clinging to his. “I’m glad you’re still here.”

“So am I.” He kissed her again, his mouth lingering.

“Did you sleep?”

“A little. I just… didn’t want to miss this. Being here.” His small smile was slightly sheepish, as if he understood that he was being foolish.

“Darling man, I hope you’ll be here often.” Her smile was indulgent, and she lightly stroked the fine hair on his chest.

“I do too.” His hand on her side began to stroke softly, his fingers trailing from her breast down her side and back again. Phryne felt her nipple peaking in reaction to the slightly rough texture of his fingertips.

“Shall I convince you that I want you to stay?” She purred, her fingers on his chest circling his nipple.

He laughed softly. “It would do wonders for my fragile male ego.”

*****

With a laugh, Phryne slithered up to lie on Jack’s chest, her breasts and belly pressed against him. He slid his hands up to cup her bottom as she leaned in to kiss him, reaquainting himself with her taste—a little stale from sleep now, as he knew his own must be, but still wonderful and quintessentially Phryne. His cock had begun to harden as she played with his nipple, and he pressed it up against her stomach where she lay on him, her knees spread around his hips.

“God, Phryne,” he rumbled, “what you do to me…”

Phryne shifted her hips against him, tilting her hips to rub her wet folds along his hardness.

“The feeling is mutual, Jack,” she whispered, lazily moving her hips to stimulate herself and him, too sleepy to work very hard at it. Jack stroked his hands up her back, then back down again, bending his knees to give her something to brace against as she moved.

They kissed languorously, their hands stroking gently. Jack felt himself get harder, but without the urgency he’d felt earlier. He pulsed his hips lightly, helping her use his cock to stimulate her clit, feeling her breathing change as her tension grew.

Eventually, Phryne slid a hand down his chest and between them to guide him inside her. Jack helped, contracting his muscles to give her room to work, and they both sighed as the head of his cock breached her opening. She wrapped her arms around his neck again, combing her hands into his hair as she continued to rock slowly upon him, her mouth on his as their tongues echoed the rhythm of their hips.

Jack slid his hands up her body again, this time pushing between them to cup her breasts; Phryne pulled her mouth away with a sigh, propping herself up on her hands to give him access, her hips continuing to pump and circle against him as his fingers played over her nipples. With a grunt, Jack propped himself up on one elbow to take her breast into his mouth. She gasped as he began to suckle, her hips moving faster against him. Jack switched breasts, murmuring praise on the way for her scent, the softness of her skin, and the sweetness of her nipples.

Phryne gasped his name, her voice catching, and her hips sped up; Jack responded by using his legs to push back at her, driving himself deeper inside her body with each thrust. Suckling strongly at her nipple again, Jack slid a hand down her belly to burrow between them and press his fingertips against her clit. Phryne came with a wail, placing a hand on his chest as she shuddered against him, her back arching and her mouth wide with pleasure. Jack continued to thrust, harder now, until he came too, his groan of release muffled against her breast.

With a soft sigh, Phryne collapsed atop him, her hands sliding up his shoulders to bury her fingers in his hair again. He stroked her back gently, enjoying the slight weight of her on his chest and the feeling of her breath soft against his throat.

“Stay longer, Jack?” He felt her whisper as much as he heard it, the movement of her lips close against him the tiniest of kisses.

“As long as you want me to,” he replied, pressing a kiss to her temple without dislodging her.

She sighed sleepily. “Good. You’ll be here a long time. I hope you brought a change of clothes.”

He chuckled, and wrapped her in a hug, the warm promise in her words bubbling inside him like champagne.

“Sleep now, Miss Fisher,” he said, and closed his eyes as well, content. “I’ll be here in the morning.”

*****

He was there in the morning, and the morning after that, and the one after that. He did eventually have to go home, if only to gather up a few things he needed. Over the next two months, his clothing and books migrated to Wardlow; he rarely returned to his bungalow except to tend his garden, and when Phryne asked him to work on hers, even his plants made their way into her yard.

By the time six months had passed, he was to all intents and purposes a permanent resident. Phryne had made room in her closet for his suits (a large concession, she assured him, but worth it for his presence), and on her shelves for his books. She had a key made for him so that he could join her without waking her on the nights that he worked late, and so that he could be waiting for her when she got home after her nights out at various jazz clubs with her friends.

When she thought about Jack’s presence in her life—which she didn’t, often; she’d rather just accept it—Phryne’s inclination was always to ask him to stay; he enhanced her life rather than encompassing it, and she rather loved it. She rather loved _him_ , something she really wasn’t good at saying out loud, though she thought that he knew.

One Sunday afternoon, Phryne leaned back against Jack’s chest in the parlor’s window seat, each of them holding a book. Jack was reading the newest Zane Grey, and Phryne was devouring DH Lawrence’s _Women in Love_ , a recent addition to her library that she hadn’t read before.

“Phryne?”

“Mmm?” She turned a page, her eyes remaining on her book.

“I was just wondering whether I should put my bungalow up for let.”

Jack’s voice was casual, but the question wasn’t, really. If he rented his bungalow, it would mean that he lived here, with her, at Wardlow. That this—that she—was his home. Phryne was surprised by the leap of joy in her chest at the idea.

Licking her lips, she lowered her book and raised her head, her eyes on the stenciled wall of the parlor. “Do you want to?” _Do you want me?_

Jack rubbed her arm gently with his free hand, and she could feel his shrug against her back. “I’ve only kept it to give you the option to tell me to get out. I didn’t want to presume that you wouldn’t.”

“I won’t.” The words escaped her before she could think them through. His hand against her arm stopped moving, and it felt like he might be holding his breath.

Phryne bit her lower lip, closing her book. With a deep breath, she turned to face Jack. His blue eyes were warm on her face, if a little unsure.

“I want you here, Jack,” she whispered. “I like having you here. With me.”

He laughed a little, a breath of relief. “Well, that’s fortunate, as I like being here with you.” He raised a hand to stroke her hair, pushing a strand behind one ear. “Are you certain, Phryne? If we take this step, and you change your mind…” He swallowed hard.

“So certain, Jack. These past months with you have been… perfect.” She kept her eyes on his as she said it. “I want you to stay. You belong here. You belong with me.”

Jack’s hand cupped her face as he leaned in to kiss her, a promise of a kiss. When their lips parted, he rested his forehead against hers.

“I am utterly in love with you, Phryne Fisher.” His eyes twinkled at her, so vivid and so close. “Still want me to stay now?”

“More than anything, Jack.” Her smile bloomed across her face like sunrise. “Stay as long as you like.” She captured his joyful grin with her mouth, throwing her arms around his neck and pressing her body close. He wrapped his arms around her too, returning her kiss with all of the passion he hid behind his laced-up inspector persona. Breaking away, she spoke breathlessly.

“Goodness, Jack, all of this discussion has made me very tired. I think I’ll take a nap. Care to join me?” Her smile was sly as she stroked a palm down the front of his shirt—he was dressed casually for a day at home, without even a tie as armor.

“Now that you mention it, I am a bit tuckered.” His eyes were laughing as he set his book aside. She did the same, and stood, holding out her hand.

“Come on then, my Jack,” she said. And she led him upstairs to their bedroom, where they didn’t nap at all.


End file.
